


A Bit of Lace

by coshie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Date Night, Gender Play, Lingerie, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 07:05:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19763053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coshie/pseuds/coshie
Summary: Armageddidn't, so Crowley thinks maybe a little celebration of the Earth reaching its next birthday is in order.  He wants to buy a gift for Aziraphale, and ends up buying an entirely different kind of gift.Aziraphale likes it anyway.





	A Bit of Lace

**Author's Note:**

> The idea came to me when I tried to fall asleep the other night, so I spent all afternoon the next day writing this. It took an unexpected turn tbh but I kind of love it anyway?  
> I hope y'all do too ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

"My place at 8."

"Oh? Any particular occasion?"

"Do I need one to have you over for the night, angel?"

"Oh, no, no of course not. Merely curious."

"Well. You'll just have to wait until 8 to find out, won't you."

"I suppose I will. Eight o'clock, then, my dear; I will see you then."

"Yes, you will."

Crowley ended the call and tossed his phone onto his bed. He considered the handful of clothing items laid out next to the discarded phone. And he smiled.

It had started three days ago, in a shoe store.

  
  
  


"No, look, I know they're not modern, I'm not arguing that," Crowley argued with the apathetic saleswoman, pointing to the image on his phone again, "I would just like to know where I might be able to find a pair."

"Sir, I've told you before, we only carry the most current styles,” the woman said in a toneless voice that suggested she said this at least ten times a day.[1] “If you want something from the middle ages---”

“Renaissance,” Crowley corrected under his breath.

“---then you’d be better off at a costume shop.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes; she was completely missing the point.

It was October 18th, and in three days, the Earth would be celebrating its birthday.[2] Given that the Not-Quite-Armageddon had recently passed them by, Crowley was of the mind that they could do with an excuse for a little celebration. So he was trying to find a gift for Aziraphale, something the angel wouldn’t be expecting. As he had flipped through his mental library of their extended history together to gather some ideas, one of the few things that jumped out at him was the fashion during Renaissance-era France, which Aziraphale had been rather taken with. So a pair of shoes from that era - or, at the very least, styled from that era - seemed like it might be a gift outside of the usual realm of what he bestowed upon the angel.[3]

He hadn’t expected to find anything of the style in this particular shoe store - it was modern and expensive, after all - but he thought that maybe the employees could point him in the right direction. He was very much beginning to wish he _hadn’t_ told himself that he would be procuring this gift the “proper” way, and could just materialize what he wanted. Aziraphale, being Aziraphale, would appreciate the gesture so much more if he knew Crowley had actually put in the effort to find and purchase the item.

“Look,” he started again in a tone of voice that suggested that, one way or another, this would be the very last time he was going to say this; he leaned forward onto the counter and held out his phone again. But as he shifted, light glinted off of something in the corner of his eye, and he reflexively turned to look. He straightened. “All right, never mind,” he said quickly, and pointed to the pair of shoes on display that had caught his eye. “How much for those?” He had suddenly gotten a much better idea than a simple pair of shoes to gift to his angel.

“Those?” The saleswoman followed his finger. “Seven hundred pounds.”

“Sev--- seven hundred? For seven hundred, that had better be actual gold and rubies.”

“It is, sir.”

“Oh.” Crowley considered the shoes again. “Yeah, all right then. I’ll take ‘em.”

The fact that these shoes were almost exactly opposite what he had come in here asking after did not seem to faze this woman in the slightest. “What size, sir?” she asked.

Crowley looked back at her. Size? They’d be the correct size when he put them on. He hadn’t ever bothered to find out what his actual shoe size was. “Six,” he said the first number that came to mind.

She nodded, and trudged off to the backroom. A moment later, she returned with two boxes. “We have them in five-and-a-half and six-and-a-half, but not a six.”

“The six-and-a-half, then,” he said impatiently. His mind was swimming with ideas now, and he was anxious to get home to see what else he could find to further amplify this… “gift” for Aziraphale.

He was sure this new idea also fell into the category of “unexpected”.

  
  
  


Determined to stick with his original plan of _purchasing_ a gift, Crowley set out the following day, Saturday, to make his next purchase. He had stayed up most of the night on the internet, browsing through various online merchants, and had settled on four more items to buy: one was available at a store closed on Saturday, so would have to wait until Sunday; one was available at a store that was closed on weekends and would have to wait until Monday (the day of the planned “celebration”); the last two were in a small boutique that was closed on Sundays, so that’s where he went when he left his apartment on Saturday morning.

The shop in question was tucked away out of sight, and had a very nondescript sign hanging above the door that read simply "Boutique" in a modest font. To the casual observer, this was little more than a no-name accessory shop buried away in a back corner of London. Crowley was not a casual observer.

He exited the shop twenty minutes later with an unmarked, opaque bag, calling behind him, "Helpful as always, Lara, don't know what I'd do without you, tell Sam I said hi, take care, ciao," with a little wave.

When he returned home, he laid the items out on the chair next to his new shoes. Then, humming to himself in a satisfied way, he left again to pester Aziraphale into closing shop for the rest of the afternoon so that they could go on a walk through the park.[4]

  
  
  


On Sunday, he made the next purchase from another small no-name shop. This one he hadn’t ever visited before, but was incredibly taken with their inventory and knew he would have to return in the future. The shop’s owner was a middle-aged woman named Doreen, a motherly sort who fawned over him. “What can I help you with, my dear, who are we shopping for today?” she had asked him as soon as he walked in the door.

“Oh, I’m just looking for a particular item,” he said.

“Of course!” she agreed happily as he brought up the relevant image on his phone. He showed her. “Oh my, but those would look lovely on you,” she gushed, giving him a once-over. “You have such slender, long legs; you’ll look gorgeous.”

“You think so?” Crowley prompted with a smirk, following her through the shop as she went looking for the item in question. He never turned down praise, no matter the source. “I’ll be wearing them for a date night; you think he’ll like it?”

“He would be crazy not to. What a lucky husband you have,” Doreen agreed effusively.

“O-oh, he’s not---” Crowley could feel his ears turning pink, and was glad Doreen had her back turned. He cleared his throat. “No, we’re not married,” he corrected.

She turned with a knowing smile, item in hand. “Well then, don’t be surprised if he proposes after seeing you in these, my dear.”[5]

  
  
  


Monday morning, Crowley procured the last of his purchases from a trendy clothing store about an hour outside of the city. He spent a few hours in the early afternoon trying everything on and making adjustments where necessary. The shoes in particular needed a color adjustment; the black and gold were all well and nice, but he changed the underside and interior from their natural gold-tan to a bright crimson. There were accents of red throughout the rest of the ensemble, so it was _necessary_.[6] He called Aziraphale around 5pm to invite him over.

And then he got anxious.

It was stupid to think that Aziraphale wouldn’t appreicate the effort - and the result of said effort - from Crowley, but that didn’t stop him from thinking _what if he didn’t?_ What if Crowley had been wrong about this, what if none of this was going to be to Aziraphale’s taste, what if---

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he murmured to himself as he misted his plants mindlessly. He paid particular attention to the planter full of lilies, his newest addition. “He’ll like it because it’s you,” he continued to himself, brushing his fingers over the fresh buds. “He always does.” He did; Crowley had cut his hair a few weeks ago, as it had been starting to get a little too long for his current taste, and Aziraphale had spent a good five minutes complimenting the new style. When asked if the angel preferred the shorter hair on the demon, Aziraphale spent another five minutes convincing him that the longer hair was equally wonderful but for different reasons.

Crowley’s fingers lingered on one bud, which spontaneously burst open into a freckled-pink bloom. “Hey!” he bit out between clenched teeth. “If you think you can bloom _now_ , then you’d better be prepared to hold yourself together while the rest of them catch up. Because if you think for a single second that I will tolerate uneven growth---” he held the stem a little tighter, just tight enough to make his threat clear, “---you will be severely mistaken. And you will not enjoy what happens to disobedient plants in my garden.”

The lily in question was clearly too new to understand the weight of his threats, because it just stretched its petals out further as if to show off even more. Crowley sneered at it, but snapped his hand away and examined the other buds. “The rest of you should keep this one in line, or else you’ll all suffer,” he warned. None of the others reacted. Ah well. They would learn soon enough.

He fretted over his plants for the next two hours. They were, of course, already perfect. But he would always find something to do with them to distract his anxieties.[7] At half-past, he returned to his bedroom, and got dressed.

* * *

Aziraphale arrived at five-til-eight, punctual as always, with a bottle of wine in one hand, and a small wrapped parcel in the other. He let himself into Crowley’s apartment with his key.[8] “Crowley,” he called, “it’s me, I’ve brought wine.”

“In here, angel,” Crowley called from down the hall.

Aziraphale slipped his shoes off, leaving them by the coat rack as he hung his jacket upon it. It was otherwise empty; Crowley kept it by the door specifically for him. “Did you know,” Aziraphale said, heading down the hall, “I didn’t realize until just this morning what today is. I wonder if you realized this as well, because you did seem rather excited to have me over.”

“Yeah, all right, you caught me,” came Crowley’s voice from his bedroom, “I might have had some ulterior motives for date night.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes with a smile as entered the room. “Oh, don’t you always, my de---”

But when his eyes fell upon Crowley, his words evaporated from his tongue, and he froze.

“Happy birthday to the planet and all that,” Crowley said in a tone of nonchalance, leaning back on his hands, sitting on the bed; a smirk was creeping over his face at the angel’s reaction. “Thought we’d take the excuse to celebrate, since we didn’t think Earth would make it to, ah, what are we at? Six thousand… twenty-two?”

“Twen-twenty…” Aziraphale breathed, unable to tear his eyes from Crowley, but apparently equally unable not to correct him, “twenty-three. M-my dear, you---” His mouth opened and closed a few times, but words were absent.

“Six thousand and twenty-three,” Crowley agreed, and stood.

The bottle of wine and parcel slipped out of Aziraphale’s hands.

“Careful,” Crowley chided. He moved a little too quickly to catch the items before the hit the ground. He straightened in front of Aziraphale, considering the bottle. “Ooh, lovely choice, great vintage,” he said. “Shall we pop it open, then?”

Before Aziraphale reacts properly to the casual suggestion, it’s quite relevant to describe what he’s looking at, or else his reaction might seem to be a little over-zealous. What he was looking at was Crowley.

Crowley was wearing very nearly nothing. Well, he was actually wearing five articles of clothing - including the shoes - but these articles were revealing more than they covered. Hanging over his shoulders was a semi-transparent long-sleeve button up - entirely unbuttoned - with a sinuous black snake in opaque black velvet curled up and down the arms and across the back. On his waist was a black lace garter belt with dark red straps that reached down over his thighs, ending in gold clasps that were shaped like snakes’ heads. These clasps were holding up thigh-high stockings, transparent black, with intricate patterns picked out in black and red lace around the top. Resting very low on his hips was a pair of lacy black panties, the waistband of which was a red snake, its head pointing down to the tip of a slit in the material, that presumably continued down and underneath, between his legs. And on his feet was a pair of black stilettos, a gold snake curled around each of the heels, their eyes tiny little twinkling rubies.

Aziraphale raised a slightly trembling hand, and hesitated. “Did you…” He tore his eyes from hungrily roving Crowley’s figure and looked him in the eye. “Did you do this for me?” he breathed.

“Thought we’d do something a little different tonight,” Crowley explained. “You don’t mind the er, switching of equipment, do you? Tried everything out with a cock, but wasn’t quite capturing the aesthetic I was going for, so I figured, eh, why not, not like I haven’t done it before, so might as well---”

“For me?” Aziraphale repeated, without having heard any of what Crowley had said.

Crowley smiled. He set down what he had in his hands, and took Aziraphale’s half-raised hand in his own. “Of course it’s for you, angel. All of this,” he put Aziraphale’s hand on his hip and took a small step closer, “has always been for you.”

And then Aziraphale reacted in what would otherwise have been an over-zealous manner. He surged forward, lifting Crowley into his arms, and kissing him furiously as they collapsed onto the bed.

Crowley laughed into the kiss, reaching up to caress Aziraphale’s face. “You like it, then?”

“My dear, you look…” Aziraphale broke away and leaned back to take it all in again; Crowley used the opportunity to start unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Words cannot do you justice. Beyond stunning. When I first laid eyes upon,” his hand travelled down Crowley’s side, “ _this_ , I dare say I could describe it as quite literally breathtaking.”

Crowley hummed with a smile, but felt his face[9] heating up. “Well,” he said, pleased but sheepish, and started to unbutton Aziraphale’s shirt, “glad you like it. Worried it might be too much.”

Aziraphale shrugged off his shirt and waistcoat, then dipped his head to press kisses along Crowley’s collarbone. “You are always too much, darling,” he murmured against the demon’s cool skin. “And I can never get enough of you.” His kisses trailed lower, across Crowley’s chest, down his stomach. “So if you’ll let me,” he continued, glancing back up to see Crowley grinning down at him, “I’d very much like to try my hand at your recent change of--- what did you call it? Equipment?”

Crowley laughed, running his hands through Aziraphale’s cotton curls. “Oh angel, you don’t have to, it was mostly for show, I can change back to what we’re more used to.”

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale insisted, pressing a kiss to the strip of skin between the garter belt and panties. “You went through all the trouble for the aesthetic. Let’s enjoy it to its fullest.” He slid off the foot of the bed, and, on his knees, tugged Crowley’s legs to get him to the edge of the bed.

Crowley complied, and sat up, draping his legs over Aziraphale’s shoulders. Something was coiling tightly in his stomach as he looked down into the sky blue of the angel’s eyes. “It’s uh,” he said as Aziraphale’s hands danced up his thighs, “it’s been a long time since I, since anyone has uh.” He hesitated when Aziraphale pressed a kiss to the edge of the panties on his inner thigh. “Since I’ve come like this,” he managed, sounding a little strangled.

Aziraphale pushed his legs a little further apart and leaned forward, inhaling. “All the more reason, then, my dear,” he murmured. His lips brushed over the snake’s head on the panties.

A whimpered moan slipped past Crowley’s lips; his hands clenched in the angel’s curls. “Okay,” he agreed breathlessly. “Yeah, I’d--- I’d like that. A lot.”

With a smile, Aziraphale’s tongue slipped between the folds of skin barely concealed by black lace.

Crowley had spent a few decades with female genitalia back in ancient Greece. He had enjoyed himself thoroughly, as had dozens of men and women. The orgasms had been quite different, arguably more enjoyable, but took quite a bit more effort to achieve, so he spent most of his time on Earth with traditional male genitalia. Every once in a while, though, he’d spend an otherwise boring evening with himself and the other set. For practice, he’d tell himself. Easier to tempt others when he knew what he was doing. But it had been quite some time indeed since anyone else had put hands - or a mouth - on his clitoritis, labia, or in his vagina.

Thus, unexpectedly having someone else between his legs was intoxicating, especially when that someone was an angel who was treating this as he would treat a gourmet meal.[10] “You taste amazing, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured into him, his breath spilling over the sensitive, wet flesh and making Crowley shiver.

“Sh,” Crowley said urgently, tangling his hands in the angel’s hair. “Don’t talk, don’t stop.”

Aziraphale obeyed, and redoubled his efforts, the gentle circling of his tongue, soft pressing of lips, and calculated use of sucking. Crowley inhaled a shuddering breath, leaning back slightly. “O-oh, angel, how--- how are you so-so good at this? No, don’t answer, nevermind, please, _please_ , just don’t stop.”

Looking up at him, Aziraphale saw that Crowley was very close to being undone. His shirt was hanging off of both shoulders, draped over his elbows, and the only thing keeping him upright was his insistent grip in the angel’s hair; his back was a hard arch, and his head tossed back. One of the gold snakes coiled around the (admittedly, rather gorgeous) heels was pressed into his back, cold compared to the heat in his face; the other was just barely resting against his skin, as though the leg was about to lift into the air. The stockings were a much softer material than he had been expecting, and it was not unpleasant to have the fabric rubbing over his shoulders and cheeks. Aziraphale wanted to push the demon over the edge, wanted to make him _writhe_ , but he also wanted to be holding him when that happened.

He pressed a kiss to the hooded bundle of nerves, and pulled back; Crowley whined a bit, but tension left his body and he collapsed onto his back, his hands sliding from Aziraphale’s head. “ _Angel_ ,” he moaned, “no, why are you stopping?” But when he heard a zipper coming undone, he looked back up to see Aziraphale stepping out of his pants. “Oh _fuck yes_ , that’s okay, then,” he said emphatically. He motioned with his hands. “Come here, my angel, and fuck me.”

“Gladly, my dear,” Aziraphale agreed, climbing onto the bed. Crowley immediately pulled him down into a very wet[11] kiss, his tongue needy and tenacious, pushing anxiously into Aziraphale’s mouth, where it was met with equal fervor. Distracting as this all was, the angel was still able to align his cock and push slowly into his demon, who _whined_.

Veritably, properly _whined_ , a needy, breathy sound that came from his throat instead of his lips. “ _Yessss_ ,” he hissed, lifting his hips into Aziraphale’s hands and locking his ankles together behind the angel’s back. Aziraphale pushed _oh so slowly_ into him, earning an adamant demand of questionable coherency. But Aziraphale was enjoying this; Crowley was warm and wet and tight and welcoming, and it didn’t matter to him how he entered the demon, because every single time, every inch that slid in, was bliss. There was something to knowing that this, the two of them together, wrapped around each other, _inside_ one another, was disapproved of by their respective Head Offices - _damn and/or bless them both_ \- that was just the cherry on top of the sundae that was the evocative reminder that _this demon, this Fallen, this being I love is just as in love with me, is mine, is here with me_.

“Like--- like you _mean it_ , angel,” Crowley urged, when all Aziraphale did once he was fully sheathed inside the demon was press kisses - and his tongue - against the pulse leaping against Crowley’s neck.

“Patience, my love,” he murmured into the crook of his neck, snaking his hands back up the demon’s torso and around his back, which was again arching into the air; this time, however, Crowley was meeting Aziraphale himself, pressing skin-to-sweaty-skin.

“No,” Crowley argued immediately, dragging his nails up the angel’s back. “I was about to come when you were down there, and you knew that, and now you’re _inside me_ , and don’t even try to tell me that you don’t want me to come on your cock, because I know you do, and _fuck_ you know I do too, so will you _please_ fuck me lik _ah!_ ” He broke off with a strangled sort of cry when Aziraphale, probably tired of the rambling, pulled back to thrust back into him. “Yes!” Crowley gasped as he did it again. “Oh fuck, yes, just like that, fuck-fuck me _just like that_ ,” he insisted, threading his fingers up into Aziraphale’s hair again.

“Did you know,” Aziraphale mused against his shoulder, trying not to let his desperation for release travel into his tone as he pumped in and out at an increasing tempo, “that you talk so very much when we are together like this.”

Crowley chuckled, pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s temple. “I think you’ve ah, you’ve mentioned something about that,” he admitted. “What a shame,” he added with a stroke of inspiration, “that you can’t fuck me and choke me with your cock at the same time, hm?”

Aziraphale shuddered slightly, his fingers digging into Crowley’s shoulder blades. “That filthy tongue of yours,” he managed by way of feigned distaste.

To his slight surprise - and immense pleasure - the tongue in question was suddenly flicking against his face. “What about it?” Crowley hummed suggestively.

“You should learn to stifle it.” Inconsistent with his words, Aziraphale lifted his head to give Crowley better access to his skin.

The tongue traced along his jaw. “Oh now, neither of us what that,” Crowley purred in his ear before nipping at his earlobe. “Besides, I adore the way you taste.” Then came a wet, shuddering gasp. “O-oh, oh, I--- angel, don’t--- don’t stop, please--- just--- just like that, I---”

Aziraphale was nothing if not obedient, and as much as that tone of voice - and lewd tongue - made him want to speed up to his own climax, he dutifully maintained speed and tempo; he turned his head and pressed his mouth to Crowley’s to taste the moan dancing on his lips, and held their bodies together as, with a cry of pleasure released into the angel’s mouth, the demon dissolved into trembling ecstasy, clawing at his neck and hair as though for something to hold onto.

“A-ang--- angel,” came his breathless voice a moment later, as the tremors subsided slightly.

“Is it too much?” Aziraphale asked, concern creeping into his voice, as he started to slow down. He might not have had quite as much experience with the female set of genitalia, but he did know that overstimulation was a very real concern.

“Oh _fuck no_ ,” Crowley said with a laugh. “Fuck all that, no, I’m enjoying every second of-of this, no, keep going,” he continued, tapping his heels into the small of the angel’s back encouragingly. “No, I was gonna tell you to come inside me, because I know you’re about to, and I thought you might like to hear it.”

Aziraphale chuckled a little and kissed him again. “I would like to hear it,” he agreed. “Say it again, will you?”

Crowley slipped his hands from the angel’s hair and instead caressed his face. “Oh my angel,” he murmured in a rather gentler tone, “please come inside me, because nothing could amplify this pleasure right now except knowing you’re sharing in it.”

“Oh, my love,” Aziraphale moaned against his lips, and plunged forward for one last thrust as his euphoria hit its apex and spilled from him inside Crowley.

  
  
  


A few minutes later, Aziraphale had rolled off of Crowley, onto his back, breathing heavily. Crowley had responded by sitting up to straddle the angel with a wide grin.

“You look satisfied, my dear,” Aziraphale muttered, resting his hands on stocking-clad thighs.

“You _tackled me_ ,” Crowley said gleefully. “Oh, if I knew that a bit of lace and some heels was all it took to get you to tackle me, I would have done this centuries ago.”

“It’s not just the ‘bit of lace’,” Aziraphale said in a tone that was meant to be sharp, but recent exertion had rather dulled it. “It’s--- it’s _you_ , Crowley, this-this outfit,” he motioned vaguely to indicate the garish garter belt, the crotchless panties, the stylish stockings, the striking heels, and the trendy shirt, “it is all so very you, but more importantly,” he lifted himself onto his elbows, “it is _you_ under all this, dearest. You could be wearing rags and I’d still adore you.”

“But I’m not wearing rags,” Crowley persisted with childish elation, “I’m wearing stockings and lace and heels and _you tackled me_.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes as an excuse to avert his gaze from the very attractive picture of his demon beaming at him, but failed entirely to hide his smile, even with the dramatic huff. “You really should clean up, my dear,” he said instead.

Crowley, still glowing, glanced down. “Ah, yeah, probably shouldn’t find out what happens when an angel gets a demon pregnant, huh?”

“Better not,” Aziraphale agreed.

So he snapped his fingers, and then adjusted the lingerie to accommodate for the return of the familiar appendage. “We could,” he said thoughtfully, his gaze drifting to one of the paintings on his wall as he let his hands fall onto Aziraphale’s stomach.

“Could what, love?”

Crowley blinked, and looked down at the angel. “Hm? Nothing, nevermind,” he said quickly. “So,” he said at length. “Ready for round two, then?”

Aziraphale smiled softly up at him. “Round two?” he prompted.

“I was kind of hoping you would bend me over the railing on the balcony,” Crowley said, leaning down and letting his hands trail up Aziraphale’s chest. “Let the whole world see that I’m yours.”

“Well, London,” Aziraphale corrected, earning a teasing sneer. “I thought we were meant to be celebrating the Earth’s birthday. Oh!” he said suddenly, sitting up. “I got you a present, too. Though uh,” he added, glancing over Crowley, “it is not nearly as spectacular as what you’ve given me, I must admit.”

Crowley chuckled, swooping down to kiss Aziraphale firmly. “Hush, don’t say that. What did you get me, then?”

Unwilling to remove Crowley from his lap, Aziraphale gave an indistinct wave of his hand, and the small parcel that he had arrived with appeared in his hand. He pressed it into Crowley’s.

Giving the angel a curious glance, Crowley unwrapped it carefully. Inside were two cassette tapes. “I know you don’t like to read,” Aziraphale was saying, “but I thought maybe you’d enjoy hearing some stories while you’re out driving.” It was an audiobook of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. “There were others at the shop, but I thought I’d just get you the one, and then if you enjoyed it, we could go and look at the others together.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, not really sure what tone of voice he was going for. “I mean, I’ll be honest, angel, I much prefer hearing you read to me in the evenings.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I’m not an idiot, Crowley, I know that. I made some minor alterations; it’s my voice on the tape.”

“Oh!” Now his tone was definitely one of pleasant surprise. “But why don’t you just---?”

“I can’t read to you in the car,” Aziraphale cut him off with a light laugh. “Not when I’m more worried about you hitting pedestrians. So I thought this would be a good compromise. Besides,” he added, “I’m not always with you, so. This way, you can,” he hesitated, but pushed forward, “hear my voice whenever you’d like.”[12]

Crowley smiled at him, and set the tapes down on the bed. “Oh, angel,” he cooed, reaching up to caress his face, “I’d listen to your voice all day and night if I had the chance. Thank you. It’s a really great gift. I’m looking forward to listening to it.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Just don’t leave the tapes in your car for too long, my dear.”

  
  
  


\--

[1] - Actually, she said it about once a day, but when you say something nearly every day for the better part of five years, automatic systems take over. [return]

[2] - Well, the Earth would _have_ its birthday. The only celebration that would take place for the occasion would be an angel and a demon spending a rather lovely evening together. Strictly speaking, this celebration would just happen to fall on the same day; the actual reason for it would be very quickly forgotten by the self-purported revelers. [return]

[3] - Books and food were all well and good on a daily basis, but an anniversary of sorts seemed to require something a little more personal. [return]

[4] - It never took much convincing. Aziraphale never argued with Crowley’s various justifications for closing early or opening late, no matter how ridiculous they might be. Indeed, Crowley had once convinced him to close at 2pm on a Monday because the weather was so nice that they really should get tea at that one cafe on the river. [return]

[5] - If anyone could have known just how pleased Crowley was with the idea, there’s a good chance he would have burst into flame from sheer embarrassment. [return]

[6] - He had still _purchased_ the shoes; he reasoned that minor miracles to adjust palettes didn’t really count against him. [return]

[7] - We all know, of course, that it was less about _distracting_ his anxieties, and more about _redirecting_ them onto his verdant victims. [return]

[8] - Crowley had given it to him a few weeks prior, not-so-subtly hinting that an unannounced visit from the angel wouldn’t be the worst thing that might happen. [return]

[9] - among other things [return]

[10] - Almost quite literally - Crowley had seen the exact same expression on Aziraphale’s face last time they had been to a five-star restaurant. [return]

[11] - for multiple reasons [return]

[12] - Little did Aziraphale know that Crowley had a box of answering machine tapes filled with his voice for this very reason. [return]

**Author's Note:**

> I was doing some searching for reference material and found [this pair of shoes](https://images.app.goo.gl/pie2urMcX42yE8X8A) and fell in love, so. So did Crowley 🙃
> 
> side note: I'm working on drawing Crowley in his uh date night outfit, but I dunno if my heart can really take it, so if anyone else gives it a shot, please do let me know ([@effable-ineffability on tumblr](https://effable-ineffability.tumblr.com/)) because I don't even really need my heart anyway  
>  _(i'm also always accepting prompts over there btw)_


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